


I Am Their Fault

by ordinarydreamer990



Series: Determined to the End [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chara Needs a Hug, Cutting, Daddy Issues, Depression, Female Protagonist, Heavy Angst, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9415940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinarydreamer990/pseuds/ordinarydreamer990
Summary: A prequel to Amalgam. Chara recalls the demons of her past, and what they've led her to become. Most of all, she remembers the night before she fell into the Underground.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Ordinarydreamer here. Just make sure to read Amalgam first. It makes more sense if you read Amalgam first. I hope I did a good job of giving Chara a motive of why she hates humanity and tried to commit suicide. If anyone wants to comment and give me a suggestion of how I can characterize her better, feel free! I'd appreciate the feedback! Thanks for reading. Enjoy the show! ;D

“I… I just feel like this is not enough.”

“What do you mean by not enough Chara?”

“It’s like, it’s like… if, this is all that living really is… then it’s not enough for me. I want more. I want to be happy, and I want to be loved. I want to mean something to the world.”

“So you feel as though no one cares, and that life is just a sad, dull thing, correct?”

“Yeah… that’s not exactly it, but it’s close enough, I guess. I feel like no one listens. I feel like I don’t matter. I feel like I’m nothing.”

I watched her unchanged expression. She scribbled more notes into the margin of my psyche sheet. This felt stupid. She talked to me oddly, sometimes like I was a woman in her mid-life crisis and sometimes like I was a toddler. All the while she kept up that same blank, professional expression. I clenched my fists.

“Alright Chara, we’re out of time I’m afraid. It was a pleasure.”

“Yes, Dr. Anthyme. It was great to see you again.”

My voice sounds hollow and rusted to me. But she seems to think it was genuine, her eyes showing the pride behind her thick spectacles. God, they looked terrible on her. She was in her late 20s and it made her look like an old hag.

I blinked slowly as I let her escort me out of the office to my scattered looking mother sitting in a blue plastic chair in the waiting room. She was texting someone. Her mother-in-law, probably, or him. She looked slightly startled, as she always looked when she saw me.

“Mrs. Shwartz, I think Chara is doing better lately.”  
“Oh, that’s good to hear. Thank you dear.”

“But I do recommend that she gets out more, you know. Make some friends. It would do her good to socialize a bit more.”

“Oh yes, I understand. Thank you, Dr. Anthyme.”

My mother ushered me out of the building and to the car. I got into the front seat and slammed the car door way harder than necessary. She didn’t say anything, just tried to avoid my glare. Honestly, I think my red eyes scared her.

No one knew what caused my crimson irises. They explained it as a way of my phenotype being expressed in a strange way, but I thought that was BS. I don’t really know to this day why I have red eyes. I think it may have something to do with my red soul. Maybe my determination showed in my eyes because my powers were dormant and I did not know of my soul.

We drove home in silence. I went in the door and directly down the hall to my room, intentionally not making eye contact with him. I slammed the door behind me and locked it instantly. It was a habit at this point. I slapped my headphones on and immediately cranked up my CD player, ready for a distraction. The lead singer’s voice exploded in my ears in time to the beat, and I lost myself for a couple minutes. 

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Pausing the song, I anxiously sat up. Oh no. This was not gonna be good.

“Hey! Open up the damned door Chara! I’ve knocked five times now!”

I took a deep breath, and clutched my slightly trembly hands behind my back. I slid off of my cushy bed and started walking toward the door. I put my hand on the knob and twisted the lock.

Immediately the door exploded inward, knocking me to the ground. He stormed in, pissed off as hell. My father was the person who scared me the most. I bit my bottom lip as I watched the impending doom before me. His breath smelled like whiskey. I may be young, but I definitely know that smell.

“What kind of crap music did you have on at full freakin’ volume?”

“I-I had headphones in-”

“I could hear it all the way from the damned kitchen! That’s bullcrap, and you know it!”

“Fath-father, please, just let me-”

“SHUT UP, I’M TALKING TO YOU, YOU LITTLE FREAK!”

His hand drew back, and as I watched it felt like slow motion as my eyes registered it in terrifying detail as it drew closer to my pale cheek. I didn’t hear the crack against my flesh, but I definitely felt it. I swallowed the knot in my throat and told myself in my head, you will not cry. Your deadbeat father will not make you cry. The voice in my head sounded stronger than I felt.

“You’re pathetic, Chara! You can’t even listen to me! You’re nothing!”

He towered over me and I felt even smaller than usual. It didn’t help that my legs were trembling like jello. My sweater seemed to do nothing as I shivered before him. 

“I see those damned cuts on your arm! You’re weak, worthless, and a sniveling, sentimental blob like your mother.”

It’s the comment on his way out that stings the most. The one I almost don’t hear because of the distance and drunken slurring.  
“I wanted a son, not a waste of space like you.”

I shut the door. Lock it again. I let the tears stream down my face and taste the salt as it hits my lips. I’m almost choking, barely able to breathe because of the mucus in my nose and that same knot in my throat.

I roll up my sleeve and stare at the scabs on my left arm, newer wounds mixed with older scars. A few of the tears hit the cuts that are almost fresh and I wince as they sting the mutilated flesh. I put the sleeve back down and take a deep, calming breath. My bare feet slap the wooden floor as I walk towards the door.

Holding my breath, I quietly slide the door open and tiptoe down the hall. I peek into their room and I see he’s passed out onto the couch. She’s there too. She briefly looks at me and I see a wet tear on her cheek. But she’s always been better at hiding it than me.

I slip into the bathroom and flick on the light. I start the sink quietly and grab a white washcloth. I wet it, watching as the darker stain spreads over it until it’s all dampened. I gently pat my face, gasping as I pass it over the greenish bruise already blooming across my cheek.

Then, I roll up my sweater again and wipe my battle scars. One of the newer scabs falls of and it starts bleeding again. I sigh as the blood stains a corner of the white washcloth. But the water feels good on my wrist even though it stings a bit.

I knew then what I needed to do. I had to end this forever. Otherwise, he might end it for me. I grabbed my backpack, stuffing it messily with a few clean sweaters, a few pairs of shorts and underwear. I stuff in a few chocolate bars and my notebook with a pen for good measure, along with a cheap pamphlet titled ‘Mt. Ebott and Surrounding Areas - Maps’. 

Finally, I grab the knife from the kitchen counter. Better safe than sorry, right? Honestly, I wasn’t thinking of a scenario when I closed my fist around the handle. I was thinking of a face. My father’s. Little did I know when I gripped that knife for the first time how long and how far it would follow me. That knife would even follow me past death.

As the moon was full in the starry summer sky, I walked across the forest floor, using the dim moonlight to glance at the map every once in awhile. After a long time, I was standing at the top of the mountain as the sun rose. I sat on the leafy mountain top and ate a chocolate bar as the sun slowly rose. It was the most beautiful sunrise I’d ever seen.

Looking back, I wonder if they even looked for me. I can picture the news stories and amber alerts now. Missing- Chara Shwartz, age 13. Known to be suicidal, armed, and potentially dangerous if approached. I don’t think they did look for me at all though. I don’t think they cared if I was dead. 

My mother had been afraid of me. She was afraid of my red eyes, my strange lack of any friends, and the clear anger at the world and her and my father. She had felt guilty for being afraid of her own child, so she took me to the doctors and support groups, but none of it had been for me. It had been to appease her own guilt at being petrified of her own daughter. She sickened me.

My father had hated me to the core. He wanted a son, not a weak little girl. I owe my lack of a childhood to him. I hate him in return, the fear turned to anger over time. I think now that the reason I didn’t discover the power of my soul was because of my constant fear of him. Even though I’m free now, and it’s been so long that he’s probably dead, one thing is clear in my mind. I will never return to my hometown as long as I live. Because I know, if I ever see him, I will recognize him. I will recognize him, and I will show him how strong I have become. 

If I ever see my father again, I will kill him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. Hope you enjoyed the story. It took me forever to think of a title for this... and I still think it's a bad title. I hope I've done a good job of writing Chara. I really have enjoyed writing with her so far. I've tried to present her in a different light, because this is how I see her. Leave kudos if you wanna see more in this series. Again, thanks so much for reading! Love you guys! ;D


End file.
